Amnesia
by ilovedamncookies
Summary: (I advise you listen to Amnesia, by Guy Sebastian - y'know, getting in the mood) Anyway. This is about heartbreak.


**The song used in this fanfic is called Amnesia, by Guy Sebastian. You can listen to it while reading. Oh, and I don't own the characters, but I do own the plot.**

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Love is an awesome thing. It holds awe and anger, beauty and frustration, pain and healing. It toys with the mind, twisting thoughts and changing decisions 'til you're no longer the same person. It mixes personality, softens people and hits them while they're vulnerable. And then it's gone, and you suffer. It drives you crazy.

Love is a drug, and once it's gone, it's fucking impossible. Lives are taken. Wrists are sliced. Drunks are made. And then there's the lucky ones, who can live long enough to come across another. It's unfair, that the happy ones get the happy endings. Negativity has no place in love.

Love is supposed to be never ending. It's supposed to be unconditional.

Instead, it whittles you away to no more than a thin, feeble twig, then snaps you right in half and throws you into the gutter, where you bleed for hours and hours, screaming louder than thought possible, everything inside you dying at once.

Instead, it pulls you under the cold, dark water, chaining you to a rock, and forces you to take in water, but when you do, it hurts harder, hard enough to drive you shit crazy. You are deprived of air, never to see the light again, and every breath feels like your last, painful.

Instead, it throws you into a fiery furnace and burns you to a crisp, your ashes flying everywhere. You can't be reversed. You can't change it around again. Once you're burnt, you're burnt.

Love is a wolf in a sheep's cloak. It tricks your mind into thinking that it is fine, it is friendly, that it is safe. Then once you warm up to it, it pulls you into a corner of the paddock and rips your poor heart out, devouring it then your flesh, before tossing your carcass onto the victim pile and going back out there. And as you lie out there, rotting away in the sun while surrounded by others, and more joining by the second, you wonder how you could have fallen for it, thought it was secure, and been so fucking stupid.

Love is the world's biggest bitch. Bigger than life, bigger than karma. It is a fucking bitch.

I was right to hate Aphrodite. Now I despise her. I loathe her. I fucking detest her with the whole of my being.

I remember it, the horrible pain inflicted upon you from the second you awake, and it burns like a cigarette. It chokes you, suffocates you. It kills you.

It's like you're drowning in your sadness, and the longer you are, the more sadness there is.

I can't sleep. I haven't been able to. Not since that dickhead destroyed my ability to smile. I lie awake every night on the couch, a smuggled bottle in one hand and a freshly sharpened knife sitting bloody on the table beside me. Love ruins you from the inside out until nothing but an empty shell remains.

If only I could wake up and stop breathing. I want to, I need to, know how it feels to need no one. I have to forget him. I can't live like this. I want to get out of bed in the morning with amnesia.

Yes.

But he's stained in there, tattooed into my mind. I could never get him out, never. He refuses to fade away, to disappear, to let me move on. Because every time I get up, he's out there, moving around camp, intriguing everybody with his uncanny skill of controlling water and bending it into breathtaking shapes. He's not something I could move away from, or I'd die for real.

And it's like every stranger has his face. I can't even look out the window without seeing his face. I haven't left the damned cabin in two months, not once. I didn't even leave for food, wanting to starve myself, but my mates caught on after three days and brought me some. And like the weak bitch I am, I gave in.

That doesn't mean I'm not stick thin. I might eat, but I never said I ate a decent amount. I've lost weight. A lot of weight. I hope you're happy, because this is your creation.

And if I didn't remember my name, what of it? I'll be happier, so long as someone stupid doesn't remind me of him, tell me why I have fresh scars on my arms, or speak his disgusting name.

My greatest desire now is not to have him back, but to wake up and take my last agonising breath. Because then I won't need him at all, for I'll be dead as a dodo. Extinct. No more left of me but a broken body.

I wish to forget him, at the very least. To see his face and not have my heart shatter again each time. He's tried apologising, but the last time he did, the knife stabbed his upper arm, just next to the shoulder. And thinking about it now, I feel regret.

I should have aimed for his heart.

It's just malice left in me. There isn't anything else. If that were to leave, I'd be nothing. And that nothing would die, because there isn't anything making it breathe and stopping it from doing the thing it desires most. I want to wake up tomorrow with amnesia, or maybe not wake up at all.

And can someone tell me which dickhead said, "It's better to have loved than to have never loved at all"? Because they will pay. They will suffer an eternity of immortality in Tartarus, under extreme pain, never dying but barely breathing.

Because they were wrong. I wish I had never loved him, or anyone, or anything. It hurts indescribably. And nothing will ever compare to this eternal torture.

And if I wake up tomorrow, still breathing, I at least want amnesia. I don't want to need him. I want to forget him and never see him again. I don't want to be reminded of this pain. If I get Elysium, there's no rebirth for me.

And I want to forget this. But I can't. I'm too broken. So I guess I'll just have to pray that I die.

I hope you're happy, Percy fucking Jackson. This is what you've created, and this time, it's not a marvellous and wondrous sight. It is sick and pale, a representation of death while living.

With pure hate from,

The world's most broken person.

Annabeth Chase


End file.
